Between the Lines
by Mysteriol
Summary: He walks her home. Like he always does. Funny how they've been dating for so long, and they still act like they've been in love just yesterday. - NAMIXAS AU.


Between the Lines ; 

He walks her home. Like he always does. Funny how they've been dating for so long, and they still act like they've been in love just yesterday. - Roxas, Namine, NAMIXAS AU. Beware the fluff.

A/N:

Like I said, beware the NAMIXAS fluff. No seriously. You've been warned.

* * *

They've been dating for nearly two years now, and each time he sees her, his heart still skips a beat, and no matter how he chides himself for acting like a goofy lovelorn child, the corner of his lips undeniably still lifts when his built-in radar senses her presence. He should really get used to seeing her walking towards his direction with that same look on her face – flushed cheeks, nervous smile, innocent round eyes. . . that light up when they meet his.

. . .But he's the first to admit he's still a goofball and acts like a complete moron when they're ten inches apart, and he reaches out to to take her hand into his, feels her small dainty fingers lace around his, and completely, utterly, lets his defenses crumble to shyly drop his gaze and finds his toes suddenly very interesting.

She leans into his warmth, and it's almost second nature how his arms, no matter how awkward he stands by her side, embraces her small frame almost as if they are meant to fit there. Doing his best to ignore how idiotic he's always acting around her, he bends his head down enough to whisper "_Hey, Namine_," with a mental battle ensuing in his head on how he shouldn't really be blushing this much resembling like a tomato in front of his one-year-over girlfriend… but a part of him doesn't care when she tip-toes enough to encircle her arms around his neck breathing his name back into his ear.

Seriously. . . no onlookers would have believed they had dated for nearly two years. Probably why they still are constantly the subject of the entire school population's teases and taunts. Not like they are ever harsh or brutal enough to be minded.

She knows him well, though. Knows him well enough to understand Roxas' not the showy, affectionate type. Her boyfriend's got a huge reputation to protect – number one soccer player on the school team, ace featured player in the entire National Championship newsletter for three years straight. No girls could make him weak or wobbly in the knees.

Not even one as pretty or angelic-looking as _her_.

So small gestures, like the way he dips her head and stares at her sideways, or the way he waits for her at her locker after the last of her classes to walk her home, the way he subtly rests a hand on the crook of her waist at the bus stop before they part ways – it's enough.

But those times when he's uncharacteristically affectionate or tender. . . they're the best. Like the way he's now tucking those stray strands of hair behind her ears, wiping a drop of perspiration down her cheek with utter softness, holding her textbooks in his arms, and returning her hug.

Roxas seldom smiles. He's not known for being personal or friendly in school, establishing a reputation for being more of the silent, strong type. But she's Namine, and they're in love, and have been in love for over a year, and she reads him like the back of her palm. She knows how to read in between the lines, to read between the frowns and pursed lips to know when he's actually happy.

And really? Those crimson scarlet cheeks tell everything. And that boyish run of fingers through his hair, awkward glances to his toes, shy avoidance of her gaze – all of this while intertwining his fingers around hers after he sets her textbooks in his backpack.

No "How was your day?" No "I've missed you." No words, nothing.

But when she extends out a crumpled piece of paper to show him messed-up musical notations, messy scribbles incomprehensible to the human species, flustered drawings of black and white notes on five musical lines, and lyrics beneath music notes penned in her small, cursive handwriting that always hit somewhere raw in his heart… she doesn't even have to say much. Just – "I'm writing a song."

…_About you. _She wants to say. But doesn't. Because she knows he knows.

His eyes reveal nothing as they scan the mess on the paper. She waits for his response. He knows she's the best music composer they have in school – heck, in the entire student population in town. He knows when his girlfriend is that sought-after songstress and pianist that has every girl envious and every guy oogling whenever she steps up on stage to perform and all eyes are on her.

She changes people with her music. And she doesn't know it yet.

She doesn't ask him what he thinks. Or prompts him even when he hasn't said a word for almost a minute.

Because she knows.

She knows when she feels his fingers tighten around hers, his eyes suddenly finding the distance away very interesting, refusing to meet her gaze (her heart aches; he does this all the time when he's nervous, and she always finds it incredibly sweet and cute), and there… there he goes again. His cheeks redden like the shade of tomatoes. It's a bad habit of his that he can't help, he admits often.

She reassures him all the time it's okay. (Because she secretly loves it about him; loves everything.)

"You going to finish the song anytime soon?" He says, simply for the sake of saying something to hide his sudden shyness.

"Probably…" She teases, her eyes lighting up. She's smiling. And she knows it's only going to take a nanosecond or two before it affects him as well. "If I get the inspiration, I may even finish it quick."

He hides his head to smile, but she catches him in the act, twirling before him, encasing his built frame with her small hands going all the way around him. With a finger, she tilts his head so he has no choice but to meet her eyes.

They're almost a mile away from school now. So she knows he's okay if she's a little bit more public with her affections.

"Well?" She drawls, not seriously.

He sighs, not unhappily, as he wills her eyes to reach hers. His cheeks are so red, he hopes he can still blame it on the pretext of the humid weather of late. Gently, he takes both of her hands off from the back of his waist, to intertwine with his fingers.

"Well…" He picks up from where she left off. "If you really need the inspiration…" Something changes in his eyes – something rare… like playfulness, a twinkle. Something he only shows around her. A vulnerable, soft side to the man everybody knows could kick anyone's butt off the soccer team if he wants to.

"Yes?" She giggles, the twinkle in her eye matching his as she tip toes, and inches closer to Roxas.

He sighs, for the last time, not seriously, before he tilts his head to reveal the corner of his lips lifting with a slow, but sure smile.

He draws her closer, into his arms, bends down, so his lips are surely coming down to swoop onto hers.

But before he does, he pauses, for a second, to breathe into her ear…

"Thank you."

_For the song, for everything. For writing about me when there's nothing to write about all the time. For making music that changes everyone around school, around town when they hear you sing on the piano…and I bet half of them doesn't even realize they're all always about me. About me… About me. When I'm a goddamn disaster until you came. _

_And even if I am a disaster, hell, you made me out to be one hell of a beautiful one. _

_You're an angel, you know that, Namine? _

No "I love you", no poetic exchange of words…

The rain starts pelting, and the crumpled paper of messy musical notes gets left behind; forgotten.

All that matters to Namine as she closes her eyes to meet his kiss, is the way he, too, smiles just a bit, as he closes the distance between them.

They've been dating for nearly two years.

. . . And it's still way _too _magical how they find a reason to fall in love with each other every single time.

**FIN **

_a/N: _

_there. i warned you about the fluff. yep, feel free to wash your mouth full of cavities from all that sugar now. you're welcome. _


End file.
